


Upon the Tabletop

by lye_tea



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lye_tea/pseuds/lye_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. look over here

**01\. look over here**

Once upon a time, a prince stepped down from his high-and-mighty pedestal. And met a girl ( _lady_ ) just as wicked and cunning as he was.

He shrugged back his shoulders, made himself more imperious and "majestic" and walked right up to her. And here was what he said:  _Your name?_

She looked at him, raised her eyebrow quizzically, and laughed. In his face. (No response.)

"Give me an answer…please."

"You haven't given me your name yet, why should I give you mine?"

"I don't need to."

"Neither do I."

She left, grinning.

\--

He practiced poetry at night, hoping she was one of the sentimental types enchanted by sappy words and affected affections. She wasn’t. And so, disappointed and annoyed, he began painting. Thinking: maybe, just maybe, she loved the arts. She wasn’t.

And this time he didn’t try anything else.

\--

"Why won't you kiss me? Don't you like me?"

The girl laughed, "Yeah, I guess I do like you but I'd never  _kiss_  you."

"Why not?"

"Look over there." She pointed to a statue twenty feet away, towering over them like a black death.

"What?"

"And look over here." And she jabbed her skinny finger into his chest (a challenge, he automatically thought).

"And?"

"You're not as great."

\--

The next day, the statue was removed and replaced with one of his likeness (much, much taller and grander and unrealistic).

\--

“I’m sick of this,” she said.

“Of what?”

“Stop following me around, okay? I’m not interested in you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re arrogant and selfish.”

 _Besides, I like your brother_.

\--

Relentless, he chased her day after day until  _one day_  she was so exhausted and defeated she just agreed.

It came as a very shocking joy.

 


	2. letters

**02\. letters**

The messengers carry the news for miles and miles, from the army encampment back to the palace. She takes the crumpled papers shakily and mutters out a thanks, never looking up. And gingerly, Ursa slides the screens shut.

The blinds fall down, enveloping her in pitch-black velvets, muffling sound. She giggles and twirls and walks around the bed. Deftly, she slices apart the outside parchment and liberates the letter.

No-words drop to her lap empty and cold. Ursa is happy (Ursa is mad).

 _No news is good news_. Quiet. She begins to imagine-read.

\--

Outside the canvas flaps and on the edge of a grimly lit forest, Ozai takes a smoke from a small general and puffs away. He holds the flavor in his mouth and gradually let it seep out between his teeth.

"Watch them run like monkeys into the forest!"

Ozai laughs along with the man. "Yeah, fools! All of them!"

"Did you see that girl this morning?"

"Which one?"

"The awfully pretty one. Too bad she's so scared up."

"What a pity."

"And what a pity that you were the one to do it."

"But I have a beautiful wife waiting for me at home."

The man takes another swig, brushes the liquid across his grizzled beard. "And how is this young wife of yours doing?"

"Still."

They laugh. And the evening turns dry.

\--

“He will be home soon, he said so in the letter,” Ursa says urgently.

She brushes her hair back more and more rapidly, breaking strands and scattering them all over the room. Then, Ursa rubs creams and vapors onto her face ( _must¸ must, must_ ). She waits for their scents and textures to cover her.

Until her face becomes theirs.  _Give me your face, give it here_.

By the (open) window, she thought she saw a face and a lurking smile—it waits.

\--

Ozai reads her letters to him at breakfast to his closest friends. His comrades, his companions, his minions whom he elevated to keep himself sane.

"The end," he finishes like he were telling a good story.

"Another one!"

But now Ozai is fed up and tired and instead tosses the letters into the fire.

(He never replies.)

 


	3. jolt!

**03\. jolt!**

Ozai enters her room briefly (on most nights) and drops of "gifts"—he calls them that.

They are sweet, she admits, but  _gruesome_. And she winces and turns her head (as not to hurt his feelings, the few he still has left). Jokingly, he tugs at a braid of her hair. She frowns and brushes his hand away. He sighs and tries again.

They play a game  _cat and mouse_. Except for them, the mouse turns predator and eats the cat.

"I wish you wouldn't do this so often."

"Aren't you cute."

"Don't change the subject. Either you come or you don't. Don't come in the  _middle of the night_."

"But I'm here to visit you."

"Maybe I don't want any visitors."

"We've been married for a few months, and you're already tired of me."

He mocks a look of hurt. She isn't fooled.

"I'm not  _tired_  of you. I'm just tired in general."

"Maybe—"

"Maybe nothing. I think it's time you left."

And Ozai does (because a long time ago, he could be obedient too.)

And the next morning, when dawn is just rising from the low-lying horizon, they both pretend nothing occurred. She pours him tea and murmurs a greeting. He nods and takes her hand and raises it to kiss.

She pulls away (again) at the last second. Ozai inspects the absent touch, amused. And they linger, for a while. Because in these private moments, they can be themselves (pretending).


	4. our distance and that person

**04\. our distance and that person**

He lied to himself every day. He told himself that he loved her and only her, that there never had been anyone else. She kissed his cheek amiably (knew what an awful liar he was) and said pretty words to him.

But still, to him (at least now) she was the first.

And when their heads hit the pillows late at night, and the gap between their bodies increase every time, he never let her go. Or his ideal of her. Because to him, Ursa and her sister were one and the same.

(Twins, he remembered. They even looked alike, sounded alike. They were like copies he could compel himself to love.)

Except one died long, long ago.

And the other was forced to live.

And the other became her sister perfectly and married the prince (in her sister's place). And the other never knew anything because she was bound and tied (to forget).


	5. "ano sa"

**05\. "ano sa"**

"I think you were mistaken."

She glared and raised her voice slightly in response, "Oh really? How so."

"Well—"

"That wasn't a question."

Ozai scowled heavily. In the place where youth should have been, his face was marred with wrinkles and viruses (a "misunderstanding").

"She is nothing to me."

He walked in closer.

She pulled back farther.

"I don't care."

"I love you."

Now it was her turn to scowl. "Isn't that romantic? Too bad we both know the truth."

And so it was.

\--

Neither of them were in love (with each other) but the words kept spilling from their mouths like ink splatters onto paper. And where the ink splashed, large patches became soaked and deadened.

They never shouted. Or argued. But in their heads, they were screaming. Pain and blood became a second lover to both of them.

Ursa had her childbirths, and Ozai had his wars.

And so, there simply was no  _time_  for love (and love-making).

It had been a very nasty surprise when Ursa became pregnant with the first. (Ozai pretended to be a happy father-to-be and congratulated himself and his beautiful wife. She squirmed against his embraces and kisses.)

\--

There might have been other children if she allowed it. If he hadn't been too busy scheming to conquer the world and assassinate the rightful heir. If she hadn't been too preoccupied with protecting her children.

Especially the first.

The fragile one, the weak link (as he matured).

But Ursa couldn't bring herself to care. She had had enough with biting off more than she could chew.

 


	6. the space between dream and reality

**06\. the space between dream and reality**

In prison, locked and jaded (stuffed full of pseudo-wisdom and harbored resentment) Ozai talks to spirits. He first addresses his wife, as is proper. And then his advisors, and they all respond with tsking tongues and half-abashed glances.

But Ursa, she stares at him straight in the eye and purses her lips and calmly says, "If only you listened to me."

"Shut up."

"If only you weren't so greedy, if only you left Iroh be. Left your  _father_  be. If only you didn't threaten me, didn't endanger Zuko. If only—"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it."

Ursa sighs and sits down next to him, her ghost-weight sinking the flimsy cot, sending it teetering on spindly legs. A gust of wind. (He tries to touch her.)

"Why didn't you listen to me?"

Ozai does not answer, does not respond to a pale part-woman and her impossible demands. Even when trapped (even when the other is dead) he refuses to budge, to oblige, to make himself seem anything less than Phoenix-like.

\--

The guards pass him food through iron bars three times a day (he plots a million times three).

They whisper among each other that he is going crazy, that he is falling apart (just like his precious daughter). And they know: one day (soon) he will attempt to escape—just like her. The ex-princess, the ex-king.

 _And then, ex-ecution day came_. And the guards cheered and drank themselves silly.

\--

On the boat, taking passengers in-between worlds, Ozai encounters a slug-like creature with pincer-hands and whisker-teeth. The stranger greets him with a nod and questions him about his life.

Ozai scoffs (still flaunting a faded grandeur). The stranger pushes the boat (a ferryman) and glides across the ashen waters with ease. He takes them to the gate facing the afterlife, in a bamboo forest with violet leaves and teal stalks.

And there, he makes dock (where a woman steps lightly onboard).

_In the world between worlds, there is no time and there is no space. There is only the single pitter-patter of dropping feet and sideways gazes._

"So you made it here after all," a woman says.

Ozai looks up from his lap, mesmerized, caught off guard by blackened strings. "What? Who is there? Come out!"

She emerges and cups his face (lovingly). "You don't remember me? It's only been ten years."

" _You_."

"Your place in life becomes small after death. You are no longer important. So, really, stop being ridiculous. You are already _dead_."

From her blue-gray hands, she produces a miniature lantern (fit for a doll and carved delicately).

"Here, take this. It will help light the path. This way you won't be wondering forever, trekking through mud, until you are reincarnated again."

"And why would you be helping me?"

"Because I've been waiting all this time to kill you myself. But now that you're dead, I want to spend eternity exacting my revenge. I will wait at the end of your journey. I have waited long enough."

(She leaves with a smile, leaves him there alone and  _shockingly_  scared—

even the dead can be afraid.)

The boat picks up pace.

\--

Ursa prepares her other home for her husband's return. She opens the windows and sweeps the floors, darns the quilts and washes the tables. She makes the whole house pristine and beautiful (nowhere does she allow the smell of rot to linger).

And when he arrives, she will have dinner waiting. When the boat stops—pauses—before her humble crevice, she wants to greet him  _per_ fectly.

(Like she had when they were alive.)

And somehow, it helps knowing there are no consequences for treason here.

 


	7. superstar

**07\. superstar**

Ozai was the one left in the sun, forgotten. Second-born,  _second best_ , he was no contest. Iroh got the soon-to-be-throne, the title of "prodigy", and the girl (but this was a well-kept, royally revolting secret).

She appeared out of nowhere, twelve, young and roaming wild. The cousin of some relative or another (twice removed), Ursa was renowned for her quiet personality and glacial glares—and beautiful eyes that looked like the embodiment of sin.

His mother shoved him—both of them—towards her and introduced the snotty-snit girl as "Lady Ursa" and Ozai damn nearly doubled over laughing. Stupid name for a stupid kid.

"I'm Prince Ozai," he replied, extending his hand awkwardly (adding the prince so she would know for a fact).

"I've heard about you, heard that you were a brat."

"What! Who said this?"

"Does it matter? It's true, isn't it?"

He thought about aiming a thread into her nose except—

"I'm Iroh. It's wonderful to meet you, Ursa," ( _the idiot ruined everything_ ).

She blushed. Ozai wanted to die, to kill, to be anywhere but there. And his mother smiled like it was nothing, like she predicted this to happen. Iroh, Iroh, Iroh, the world revolved around the rotund ball of quivering cowardice and wasted "kindness".

But then, Ozai was the one who married the girl—kissed her sweetly on the wedding day—and off Iroh went to lay siege to old Ba Sing Se. And for a while, Ozai even forgot about his brother and his wife (and a too-long lingering stare they shared before the brother departed.)

For now, he could bask in the nation's extolments as One And Only Prince, with a gorgeous wife in addition.


	8. our own world

**08\. our own world**

There were many proposals, some famous some rich some heavy and sad and some brought laughter to her eyes. And then there was his. Embossed on cream-white paper with the lilts and angles all jagged and tilted from his flourished hand, was a simple statement, almost like a request.

She let him kiss her hand (a hiss slithering along from his throat) and weighed the "rights and wrongs" of marriage. And what it would mean marrying  _him_  and—

"Of all the  _suitors_  I've had, Prince Ozai, I admit that you are by far the most unique."

Ozai smiled. "I aim to please, my lady."

"Is that why you led me here?"

"Aren't you pleased?"

"It is very beautiful."

"Think of it as our own little world."

Hands whitened, clenching against the paper's edge.

"Prince Ozai, you really know how to charm someone."

"Only you."

He leaned over to kiss her, missing her by a second. But it didn't matter because this was their own little paradisiacal verandah from secular plagues and nuisances. This was where even he could be beautiful.


	9. dash

**09\. dash**

She watches him teach their children the art of combat. Ozai is inexorable, a dark overcast that threatens to engulf them wide and bury them alive. He eggs them on against each other.  _Force, you need more force_.

Zuko is strong, but his sister is stronger. Azula's movements are light and masterful, a dance of flashes. She is a natural killer—like her father. Zuko is solid and formidable. He is blind to caution and hot-tempered, but he has a heart (the only one of them).

Ursa sees him crashing to the ground. She rushes to him and kisses his face. He whimpers in her arms and tries to stand—falls down again. On the verge of crying ( _sorry, Mom_ ), he looks beautiful.

"That's enough," Ursa says to her husband. Her voice is encased in daggers.

Shrugging, Ozai picks up Azula and twirls her away. "You spoil him," he replies.

As he leaves, she notices how sinewy and perverse his back is. Long and angle-jagged, he bristles easily and spits out flames.

Sometimes, she really hates him and wishes that he were dead.

But as for him, her baby-boy, she will always be there. A moment ahead, one step behind.


	10. #10

**10\. #10**

Ten little known facts about Ozai and Ursa.

1\. Ozai didn’t want to marry Ursa at all. She was supposed to marry Iroh. But Iroh fell in love with someone else and left her second-best. 

2\. Ursa promised her that she would always love him (she lied).

3\. She loved to drink tea. He hated it (still does because it reminds him of her).

4\. Once, he commented on how she was like a daffodil, loyal yet forever unattainable. Ursa disagreed, thought of herself more like a cactus. She was made to endure.

5\. Ozai will never admit that he was jealous of his son.

6\. It was her idea to kill Azulon, but they both pretended it wasn’t.

7\. A small part of her will always love him, just as a small part of him will always hate her.

8\. Sometimes, when she was deep in sleep, Ursa murmured her nightmares aloud. And sullen and quiet, he waited for her whispers to subside, knowing she wouldn’t want his comfort anyway.

9\. Ozai doubted that Zuko was really his child, but that was a story (an interrogation, a martyrdom) for some other day.

10\. When they kissed, Ozai saw fire, heard the deafening din of stars. He lips were sweet and tender and something beautiful that he couldn’t quite completely capture. And when they part (for the final time) he couldn’t bring himself to tell her so.

 

 

 

 

 


	11. gardenia

**11\. gardenia**

He is never happy is forever-ever dour and restless and scheming. Today, he calculates for a way to ascend the throne. Yesterday, he perfected another method to burn – this one is faster, agonizing, he told her. Tomorrow, he will desire something new.

And he will seek. And he will receive.

She can only stand aside and watch as he devours more and more. Proud and sinister, he draws her in with magnetic rings. And she (weak that she is) cannot refuse.

Tomorrow (Ursa swallows hard) has not yet come Tomorrow, she will think of this tomorrow.

\--

He surprises her with gardenias and joy.

Horrified, she cringes as his lip blister her skin.

It does not take long to kill three thousand. A city falls in a day. A nation even less (news travel fast). And when a baby cries, watching its mother die, it emits the sweetest noise: something between a gargled mewl and a screech.

One day, she will see. He will take her to the battlefront. So that she too (she will see) can be happy. Like him –  _with him_.

\--

Patiently, Ozai waits for her to unwrap the present. Her hands shake, flittering across the cloth. Delighted, he observes her movements and reactions (anticipates the fear clouding her eyes).

"He died painlessly, quickly. Snuffed like a moth that dares to defy a flame."

"Why –  _how_  did you find him?"

"His last words were of you. Of  _honor_."

He smiles and inches closer. She retreats. He advances. And again. He will always take, just as she will always give.

\--

After that terrible night, she stops tending to her flowers. And the gardenias that he gave her, years ago, have wilted and died. Sad and forgotten. And the garden turns barren and dry like patches of a sandy desert.

He is pleased. Now, she is the only flower. Only he can view.

 


	12. in a good mood

**A/N:** Wow, I seriously can’t believe I’d ever write Avatar fanfic again, but I recently re-watched the series and was inspired. Also, it’s been YEARS since I’ve written fanfic in general, so I’m more than a little rusty. Haha.

* * *

 

**12. in a good mood**

There was something about Ursa that always delighted him. The second he met her (softly, he cursed) Ozai knew she was remarkable. She was perfect. The granddaughter of Avatar Roku. A legend in the making, in the brewing, binding of their bloodlines.

 

Naturally, he loved her.

 

But sometimes, she would get this strange look in her eyes. Staring off, dark and brooding, she became a wall he could not penetrate. But still he tried, drilling for a weak point, for an unfortified cranny. A point of breach. Once in a while, he’d think he had her at last.

 

Ozai studied her carefully. “You remember my first wife, don’t you?”

 

Ursa ignored him.

 

“She was not quite as beautiful as you—or as clever. But she was smarter. She had a sense for self-preservation.”

 

“Get to the point.”

 

Ozai smiled. Direct, that was one quality he always admired about her. “—And calculating. She was very good at strategies. Her father was a war minister. But you already know that.”

 

“Why’re you telling me this?” she asked.

 

“I thought you wanted to know. A little flutter-bat whispered that you’d been snooping around my chambers. There’s no need for such…underhanded tactics, princess. What is mine is yours. All you had to do was ask.”

 

Ursa narrowed her eyes. He was up to one of his tricks again. Dodging, dashing, caught once more and for naught. _Some lessons never learned, forever taught._ Her grandfather’s favorite words—the one she never knew. Some lessons are best forgotten. “What happened to her?”

 

His lips curled into a smile. Even in the dying embers, he was beautiful. Pale and dark all at once. She shivered as he cupped her cheek (felt the fire of dusk-breath). “She died. The prophecy dictated that a royal prince marry the descendant of Avatar Roku. My foolish brother was still too heartbroken over his dead wife, so naturally I stepped up.”

 

She doesn’t move, doesn’t shy from his stilled embrace (bracing for the sting). Of course. It was as simple as that.

 

“Frankly, my love,” he continued, “I’m much happier with you. We suit each other well, don’t you see? For _we_ are destined to be.”

 

“Yes, so the Sages foretold.”

 

His smile grew brighter, wider, almost genuine. Rarely did she see him in such high moods. Grasping her shoulders gently, Ozai gave her the softest ghost of kisses.

 

“Don’t let me catch you going through my possessions again,” he hissed sweetly into her ear. “My affection for you is vast, but even oceans have an end.”

 

 

 


End file.
